Betrayel The Story Behind Tortalls Greatest Mage
by Dragonmage438
Summary: This is a story about Numair Salmalin, beginning with him running from carthak, and changing his name. This is going to be a chapter story, so... yeah.
1. Chapter 1

Arram Draper walked down the darkened hallway of the royal university of Carthak. It was very late, but he had been working on a project with his teacher, Linhall Reed, and he had lost track of all time.

Heading back to the room where he was staying at the university, Arram knew that the reason he wanted to work so hard on his project, was, ultimately, to make sure that his was better than Ozorne's.

Closing his door behind him, Arram sagged into the chair at his desk. He couldn't help trying to keep outdoing the Emperors heir, and he knew that eventually, it was going to get him trouble, but he just couldn't stop. Neither, it seemed, could Ozorne.

The two were almost exact polar opposites. On one hand, there was Arram Draper, a tall, dark haired common born who had already received a black robe, marking him as one of the most powerful and skilled students in the university.

On the other, there was His Highness Ozorne, the heir to the Carthaki Empire. He surrounded himself with the wealth of Carthak, and you only had to look at him to know that he was of royal blood. One glance, taking in his braided red-blonde hair, and gilded eyes, and the clothes that were so decorative that they were almost gaudy, would tell you all you needed to know.

Despite this, the two had become friends quickly. Soon enough, they were attending the university. And, as is so common in such situations, the two young men began a quiet rivalry that was never spoken of, nor even truly acknowledged. They fought to outdo each other in every way, quickly becoming the universities strongest students.

In the end, however, Arram was simply more powerful than his friend. It was he who had received the black robe that was so coveted by his friend. Their rivalry turned into loathing, and they openly despised each other.

It didn't help matters any that he was required to wear his black robe to his classes. Ozorne, of course, could wear anything he wanted to.

Arram sighed. It wasn't his fault that his teachers had pushed him to become the youngest black robe in a century. After all, the only real perk was that he could speed through projects that the other students were forced to do slowly.

A knock on his door brought Arram back to earth. He stood to open it, and smiled as he saw the woman standing there. Varice Kingsford was a student at the university, but she loved the work she did outside of it-creating elaborate foods for a wealthy catering business. She had been, on several occasions, asked to help with banquets at the royal palace, and it was at one such party that she had met Arram, almost a year beforehand.

She was one of the most beautiful women Arram had ever seen. But right now, her blue eyes shone with worry, and her blonde hair fell around her face as though she had just run a very long distance in a short deal of time. Varice wrung her hands, and looked up into his eyes.

"Mithros Mynos and Sakith." Arram whispered reverently. "What is it?"

"Arram, you have to leave, and quickly!" Varice whispered urgently.

"Whats wrong?" Arram asked. "Whats happened?" Varice glanced around her, eyes wide, as though seeing invisible ghosts.

"Can we talk inside?" She asked. Arram nodded, stepping back to allow her into the room.

"You don't need to worry about being overheard here." Arram said. Varice nodded, swallowing.

"Arram, I don't know what you did, but you went too far this time! You're going to be tried for treason!" Varice lost all semblance of control, tears spilling out of her eyes, smearing her mascara.

"What?" Arram whispered. True, he had only expected something like this, but the punishment for treason was death. If Ozorne was accusing him, he was as good as dead.

"How did you find out?" He asked as he offered her a tissue.

"I heard two of the nobles talking about it last night." Varice said. "Arram, you must leave! Go to north. To Tortall, Scanra, Galla, it doesn't matter, but you have to leave NOW!" Varice told him, grabbing him by the front of his robe. "I don't want to watch him kill you!"

Arram nodded. "I will. But you must be back at the palace by the time they find out I am missing, or Ozorne will suspect you." He warned.

"I don't care!" Varice whispered fiercely.

"I do." Arram told her, gently prying her hands away from his robe. Varice looked at him for a long moment before turning away.

"Goodbye Arram." She whispered, fleeing through the door. It banged shut behind her.

Arrams blood was ice as he gathered the most important of his worldly belongings in a travel sack. The black opal pendant that his mother had given him as a present for his acceptance into the university, he placed around his neck.

The last thing he did before he left the room was utter the magical syllable that would turn him invisible. This done, he took a deep breath, and pulled open the door.

Arram had made himself turn invisible several times, but it was still eerie to extend his hand and see nothing. It wasn't something you could get used to, like shape shifting.

He ran down the hallways, trying not to knock anything over. He had walked through them maybe a half-hour before, but now he imagined he could see guards in every shadow, and a threat behind every corner. He had to use every bit of his willpower not to send black fire in every direction just to be sure.

Not willing to risk taking a horse, Arram left through the main gate on foot. He looked around automatically. The moon was shining brightly directly above him, illuminating the banks of the river Zekoi

Arram smiled to himself as he saw a figure making its way up the opposite bank. It was Varice.

Turning in the opposite direction, Arram began to walk. He was pretty sure that if he just followed the Zekoi away from the palace, he would come to the great inland sea in a matter of days. He could cross it into Tortall, and from there, he decided he would find a future for himself. He would keep moving, making sure that he was never brought to the attention of anyone who might alert the Emperor of Carthak where he was. 

Arrams heart sank. How much chance did he really have? He probably wouldn't even make it to the inland sea. Not with the royal guard of Carthak after him. He would be chased wherever he went, with its soldiers closing in all the time. They weren't tireless or deathless, but the Emperor was a persuasive man.

He could change his name, part of him argued. They'll be looking for someone named Arram Draper.

The next few minutes, Arram spent thinking of possible names. He went through a list of all the names he knew, and some he had just made up, and tried several combinations before he found something that worked.

Numair. Numair Salmalin. Arram rather liked it. He whispered it aloud, as if by doing so, he was officially changing his name.

Numari Salmalin glanced over his shoulder before beginning to trot along the road, raising a cloud of dust that would appear, to a casual observer, like it was being stirred by nothing but the wind.


	2. Chapter 2

Numair Salmalin watched the Tortallian dock growing closer with apprehension. He was a fugitive from its neighbor country, Carthak, and he had only barely escaped. Admittedly, invisible as he had been, it had not been hard to sneak past the guards at the harbor, but it had been nerve wracking to have twenty soldiers from the Red Legion standing right next to him.

Now, visible once more, he stood in a plain, light blue shirt, and black breeches. The wind ran through his hair as if it was determined to pull it up by the roots, and he had to narrow his eyes to keep them from tearing. He was still amazed that a simple invisibility spell had saved him from the gallows of Carthak, but there you go.

Numair still had no idea what he was going to do once the boat touched Tortallian shore. He couldn't use his Gift, that was the only thing he knew. He couldn't do any magic, because who knew who spied for the Emperor? And anyways, it was very rare for someone's gift to appear black, like his.

Numair wondered if Varice had gotten away with tipping him off about the charges against him. Or was she already dead?

Numair fought pity and self-loathing, his eyes diamond hard. He had to hope that she was alright, because he certainly had nothing else to hope for.

The boat lurched, and Numair was rudely pulled from his thoughts. He suddenly didn't feel so great. He wanted to get off of this boat before he heaved his lunch.

Half an hour later, he stood in the middle of the Tortallian port, his hand on his belt purse, and his eyes scanning the crowds, for what, he didn't really know. He didn't expect that soldiers from the Red Legion would be able to come to Tortall, but who knew what Ozorne would do when angered?

"I do." Numair muttered to himself. The sound was lost on the busy port, filled with fish merchants selling their wares, and the general sounds made by ships crews when docking or leaving harbor.

Knowing full well that the further away from Carthak he was, the safer he would be, Numair set off, winding his was through the crowds.

Only after he had left the port behind him did Numair relax enough to try and come up with any kind of plan. He decided to just start heading north, then head east once he reached Scanra. Beyond the Roof of the Word, he might even be safe enough to settle down.

Feeling much more confident, Numair squared his shoulders, and lengthened his strides.

It would be a long walk.

From his position on Balors Needle, His Majesty King Jonathan of Tortall looked out across the capitol city and into the fields beyond. His hands fidgeted nervously, and he glanced down at his belt, where, in a small leather bag, sat the Dominion Jewel.

There had been reports of very strange creatures sighted all over Tortall. People were saying that the stormwings had returned from the realms of the gods, along with centaurs. Today, a lone Tauros had been reported near Pirates Swoop (Jonathan almost pitied the creature for its awful luck-Pirates Swoop was home to the Lioness of Tortall, someone who was NOT to be toyed with).

"Jon?" Jonathan looked up to see the Lioness herself standing behind him.

"I was thinking." Jonathan said.

"Uh oh." Alanna muttered wickedly. Her smile told Jonathan that she was joking with him.

"I just don't understand why these-creatures-are appearing! It makes no sense! Not unless some truly stupid mage decided to rip a hole in the veil that keeps them separated from us!" Jonathan said. Alanna shrugged, joining him at the railing.

"That's true. Do you remember who created the veil to begin with?" She asked mildly.

"Carthaki mages." Jonathan replied at once. "But I don't see-"

"Then Carthaki mages hold its key spells." Alanna told him reasonably.

"That means that we can either fight these things, or start a war with Carthak." Jonathan said. Alanna shuddered.

"First of all, the latter isn't really a choice, unless you can use that wonderous Jewel to kill ten million soldiers. Even I can tell you the results of such a war. It would be long, and we would loose. Hundreds of thousands would die from the fighting, and millions more would follow after there aren't enough people to farm the land." Alanna corrected him.

"So we just… keep fighting?" Jonathan asked quietly.

"There you go." Alanna said. "I don't like it, but there you go." Her purple eyes traced the western skyline, in the direction of her home fief. Seeing this, Joanathan realized that for the first time, Alanna was worried about something more than herself, or her kingdom. She had found out how close danger could come to her children, and she didn't like it. He saw how hard it must have been for her to leave Pirates Swoop to report the Tauros.

It wasn't the first time that Alanna the Lioness had surprised him.

Numair cursed Ozorne for perhaps the thousandth time that day. He had nearly been decapitated by a hard twice, his feet were both trampled from so many horses and people who had step on them, and he was only barely able to conceal his fury.

For a full day now, he had been following a road that wound through the great southern desert of Tortall, and he was just realizing how stupid his whole plan had been. How was he going to be able to make it past the roof of the world without proper supplies? Fr that matter, how was he supposed to even get there?

Scowling, Numair dodged a cart and kept walking. He was very close to turning around, heading back to Carthak, and killing Ozorne himself. Of course, it would probably be as useful as petitioning the dark god, and would probably end the same way, but he was willing to try.

A glint of steel above him made Numair look up. He was too far away too be able to tell, but the creatures flying above him looked almost human, with silver wings the color of steel. To his magical vision, they looked like they were filled with golden veins.

He blanched. No creature HE had ever seen had golden fire! Those were immortals winging through the air above him, stormwings, if he was correct.

Goosebumbs rose on his arms as he remembered that the spells to bring an immortal from the realms of the gods were in Ozornes hands.

Quickly, he looked down and kept moving, hoping they wouldn't see him. He no idea whether or not they had, because when he next looked up, they were gone.

"What the hell is that man doing?" Numair asked himself.

It took Numair three days to reach Persopolis. By then, he had run out of all of his food, and, as a last resort, had stolen some. He was getting rather good at it.

Numair would have loved to stay at Persopolis for as long as he could, knowing its history, but the stormwings were still fresh in his mind, reminding him that he was still very close to Carthak. He was not out of the clear.

So he kept moving, passing the walled city with only a longing glance. Instead of following the road that would have led him straight towards the capitol, Numair turned east, plotting a course that would lead him through the hills near lake Tirragen.

His plan was to cut out that section of road, and maybe fool anyone following him. After all, Ozorne was not the worlds greatest thinker. Numair knew that, considering that Ozorne thought him a book-bound idiot, and would expect him to follow the main roads that were labeled on almost every map from Carthak to Scanra.

By evening, he had left the warm desert, and was engulfed by endless green hills. Keeping the lake to his right, Numair found a cozy spot under a tree to camp, sending black fire into two large stones nearby, which promptly shone black, and began to glow with heat.

Numair got his first full night of sleep that week.

Passing through a moderately sized town, big enough for two inns, Numair cut somebody's purse, and spent two nights staying at one of the inns. He had never spent so much time outside in his lifetime, and it was a relief to spend a bit of time indoors.

The second night he stayed there, he saw that a man who was juggling several knives was raking up quite a profit from the cheering onlookers.

When he left the inn, headed straight north past Naxen, he had taken three round stones from the inns garden, and practiced juggling while he walked.

By the second week, Numair had reached Lake Naxen, and was having the first pangs of homesickness. He missed the university, his many books, and his teacher, Linhall Reed. He wondered if he had yet managed to find the lizard he had been looking for.

He wondered often about Varice. He knew that whatever happened to her was on his head. He hoped that she had gained enough favor by the Emperor that she would not be suspected in his escape. Considering some of the foods he knew that she could make, Numair was pretty sure that the Emperor would not be willing to find her wanting.

Sitting down to eat a couple of wild mushrooms that he had dug up, Numair realized how absurd his whole situation. He had made it so far, but he was hungry, cold, and most of the time, tried from spending sleepless nights on the watch for stormwings.

Honestly worried about his own sanity now, Numair stood. He had to make some money, and travel through real towns. Otherwise, he would work himself to death. He couldn't rely on stealing, and wild food, and he could juggle five rocks at a time without difficulty.

With a silent prayer, he began to walk.


End file.
